18 SPORTS / , . THE NEWYORKER :' fl I J In Jì "I -A- J · - 11_ ----=-.t =:5f - -rJ. r...:.al- i1-::- ===-r ""-=- '"c::f==' - --===- & - - \\ \ 0 f\11 \' /, "() . I ..' I bridge, came back, took up their positions, removed their shirts and leaned over their oars. There was a tenseness in the air, the same feeling that comes just before the whistle blows for the kickoff under November skes. Beside me the Yale cheer leader had to be tied to the rail to keep him from falling over. Then all at once they were off, Harvard hitting the water first and shooting away. In those first few seconds it seemed as though the Bulldog had suddenly become the Bullfrog. For nearly twenty years, afloat and ß",,(.L. ....... ashore I have been interested in this yearly struggle: rarely can I recollect a crew that S O far as I am aware, the Harvard.. got away faster than this Harvard crew Yale regatta is the oldest sporting did. Even at our angle it was plain that event in this country. It dates back the Crimson, rowing a high stroke, was almost without interruption to 18 5 2 , nearly a length in the lead as the train rivaling Henley, the great English row- took the curve and rolled along the bank ing classic. Of the two, I prefer the beside the two boats. The Yale man be- scene at New London; it is far more col- side me was on the verge of delirium orful, more spectacular, mor.e sumptu- tremens. For Harvard, rowing a well ously and luxuriantly staged. There were spaced, even stroke, was ahead; Yale ap- many n10re yachts this year than ever be- parently was content to let them act as fore, and they made a magnificent sight, pacemaker. At the mile flag Harvard was stretching all the way up the river from still holding her gain, Yale rowing her the railroad bridge to the finish line, with effortless stroke still hanging on. It was flags, banners and bunting covering them a real race, the first in three years. from stem to stern. Just about here the Blue stroke raised The race was late starting. It always the beat slightly and his boat came on. is. Hanging out on the bridge over the Slowly, quietly, hardly noticeably, until .ed and blue stake boats with the sun at the mile and a half mark that lead streaming down on the lane of yachts, on had been cut down. The N avy Yard is the haughty white power boat marked approximately the half way mark, and the "Regatta Committee," and on the mo- crews were hidden a minute or so behind tionless surface of the blue water, we sheds and buildings. We looked far were amused in car 13 of the Observa- ahead to the front cars of the train. As tion Train by the antics of the young they came into the open blue flags, bal- man who led the Yale cheering. He was loons, scarves and banners were flung out impartial. When a sub chaser appeared in the breeze. Yale had grabbed the lead. directly under us he hurled down a long Not much of a lead, but the lead just the Yale cheer with nine "Rum Rows" on same. When they came in our view I the end. clocked Yale rowing 36 to the minute, At last the Blue crew appeared up the Harvard 35, and the Blue enthusiast be- river Then Harvard came out from be- side me yelling at about 268 . hind a power boat and paddled down to The theory that Harvard could get the the line. Both crews drifted under the lead and hold it was being disproved. In E?P -L \ / ( I \ I I , \ that third mile, the mile that tears the hearts and souls of the men in the boats, the searing stretch which makes and breaks Tinning and losing crews, Yale began to show her worth. Power magnificently ap- plied, beautiful oarsmanship, and a form faultless under pressure were putting and keeping the Blue ahead. Not much, mind you. Half a length, three quarters per- haps at the most. It was a race, a won- derful race, Harvard was still in the fight, but even from the shore the remorseles - ness of the Yale crew could be felt. And so jigsawed together they went into the last mile. And then. Well, with whistles and sirens gojng full blast, and everyone all the train yelling their heads off, the two boats went into the lane between the yachts, and we saw them no more. It was unbelievable, but it was so. Several hundred yards of water separated us from them, but that space was filled with every craft afloat except the Leviathan. As far as we were concerned, the race was over. We might as well have been in Dubuque, Iowa. The screaming of the sirens, the tooting of whistles, the yelling and the cheering came to us across the river. But who was winning, who was pulling down those last few hundred yards ahead was a mystery. We looked at each other in